


The Pain Sent From Above

by i_am_a_hog



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst, I'm in Love with Jesus and I think it shows, Jesus as a rebound for a relationship Crowley has not even had yet, M/M, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, TENDER JESUS, This probably goes into the top 3 most niche things I've written, Top!Jesus, cause you can't tell me Good Omens Jesus doesn't top, especially Crowley, heavy angst even, hghhghhhghhng, i don't know what to say, i think, my aesthetic at least, oh lord I am weak, pain and jesus, projecting ont Crowley hhghh, references to Aziraphale/Crowley, references to Jesus/Judas, this is such an aesthetically nice story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 16:18:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19380286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_am_a_hog/pseuds/i_am_a_hog
Summary: “You’re not of my kind,” Jesus said. There was a smile, curling around the corners of his wine-stained lips. Crowley could have protested, tried to uphold an illusion he knew pointless, but he gave in easier than he should have. Because Jesus felt familiar, as if the feeling of trust had become a person.“I don’t think anybody is quite your kind,” he replied, breathlessly, as his fingers trembled against his thigh.





	The Pain Sent From Above

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from [a poem I wrote](https://www.instagram.com/p/BwQBkqdA4eP/?utm_source=ig_web_button_share_sheet).
> 
> Enjoy!

The son of God was a big deal, not only in Heaven but also in Hell. It made sense, that they would send Crawly to try and disturb the divine plan. After all, he was something of a ground agent.

His orders were to tempt the man away from God.

Yet, when Crawly first laid eyes upon him, he knew how mistaken they all were. Jesus was no man – he was so much more – and Crawly knew, just like that, that his life would never go back to the way it had been before.

Their eyes met across a courtyard, almost by chance – did anything ever happen by chance? – and at once, Crawly felt so incredibly cared for, so safe and almost loved, that it made his heart race and his chest ache.

He knew how it felt to love a divine creature; Aziraphale was evasive, never quite letting Crawly close enough, but Crawly yearned, and Crawly knew that with this angel, he could be happy. What he had not expected, was to ever love another, especially a mortal.

But here he stood and the expression on Jesus’ face promised him more than he could dare to refuse.

Crawly was invited inside, that night.

“Crawly,” he introduced himself.

“Crowley?”

The demon was about to protest, when he realised just how right it sounded; how it fit in places, ‘Crawly’ never quite managed to. He smiled, and Jesus’ hand on his shoulder felt like it would leave an imprint. Maybe it did.

He dined with Jesus, a sparse but nourishing meal, and they had a bit too much wine. There were other people there, but Crowley barely registered them at all, when Jesus’ eyes locked with his and for the first time since the beginning of the world, Crowley knew, that somebody was seeing right through all of his defences.

“You’re not of my kind,” Jesus said. There was a smile, curling around the corners of his wine-stained lips. Crowley could have protested, tried to uphold an illusion he knew pointless, but he gave in easier than he should have. Because Jesus felt familiar, as if the feeling of trust had become a person.

“I don’t think anybody is quite your kind,” he replied, breathlessly, as his fingers trembled against his thigh.

“You’re not human. But you’re not from above either.”

Crowley swallowed. He had never felt so vulnerable. The dark eyes seemed to come closer, and maybe they were, because suddenly, there was a probing hand near his face, fingertips running along the line of his jaw, as if trying to ascertain, that he was real at all. They left a burning trace on Crowley’s skin; the reminder of his damnation. Or maybe a warning against what he most deeply wanted in this very moment.

“You’re from below,” Jesus said, and in his voice was something, that made Crowley shiver – or maybe it was just his touch, those strong hands of one, who had seen hard work, touching him so gently, so intimately, as if they were alone.

Oh, how Crowley wished, they were alone. But for now, he concentrated on his breathing. Even if he didn’t strictly need to breathe, it usually helped him calm down.

“But you,” Jesus pulled back and smoothed down his tunic. Crowley already missed his touch, even though his skin was still burning, sore from what little contact they had had.

“But you,” he started again. “You didn’t choose this.”

Crowley found himself nodding, as he absently reached for his wine, taking a big gulp.

“I had questions,” he whispered, but Jesus heard him. Lightly, he took Crowley’s hand and led him away from the other guests, into his chamber. And Crowley followed.

Vaguely he wondered, if Jesus felt discomfort as well. Crowley’s hand was still tingling long after.

“Tell me,” Jesus said, both of them sitting down. His hand was resting on Crowley’s knee and the demon had never felt more of an urge to give himself fully to another being.

“I questioned the authority. I wanted to see the grey between black and white.”

Jesus nodded. His reply nearly went unheard by Crowley, who was wholly ensnared with the way Jesus’ hair framed his face, how he combed it back with his free hand, yet it kept falling back. Eventually, Crowley reached for it, buried his fingers in the thick curls and pushed the strands out of Jesus’ face.

Their eyes met, and for the second time that night, Crowley had trouble breathing. There was a depth of emotion in Jesus’ expression, something equally deep as the rich brown of his eyes, as persistent as the burning sensation of his hand against Crowley’s thigh.

With whatever control Crowley could muster, he miracled a desire to suddenly leave this place into the minds of whoever still was in the next room.

The twinkle in Jesus’ eyes showed, that he knew, it was Crowley’s doing, but the demon couldn’t care less, as he brought his other hand up to Jesus’ cheek.

They were close now, Crowley’s tongue darted out to wet his lips – or maybe it was an instinct of his other form. And then, Jesus’ hands cupped Crowley’s face and slotted their lips together. It was rough and it burned, but Crowley ignored it, because Jesus was radiating comfort and safety and something more tangible, a desire, that Crowley knew how to satisfy.

Yet, this night, they only lay awake together, touching too much, and when Crowley left, he was burning, not only with yearning, but quite literally with all his being. He felt Jesus’ touches for days and when the sensation faded, he couldn’t help but return for more.

And Jesus welcomed him, took him in, hands eager and eyes shining. They both wanted more, so their kisses soon turned frantic, desperate for each other, even despite the price of searing pain.

With hands, burning with divinity and a soul burning with passion, Crowley reached out. Jesus’ movements were demanding, letting Crowley know what he needed, and so, together they evolved, exploded into a downright mess of hands, that gripped to tightly, souls that yearned too desperately, and lips, that seared welts into skin.

Crowley was aching, afterwards – a his entire body was burning; it was a wonder he could feel it at all. But the ache in his chest – the yearning – was gone, wiped away for the first time in centuries.

Jesus was lying next to him; they weren’t touching, but he was braiding Crowley’s hair. It was a gesture of affection unlike anything Crowley had experienced before.

* * *

Crowley was drowning. He stayed with Jesus, told him stories he shouldn’t disclose and asked him questions, he never should have asked in the first place. And for a long time, Jesus accepted him, welcomed him.

His touches still burned, Crowley was getting used to the pain, because it never really left, and even though he pretended like it was nothing, he felt like he was drowning.

Sinking in a sea of emotions, of unspeakable significance, a sea which Jesus would walk upon, because even through the questions and despite his own doubts, he believed and he trusted; something, Crowley himself could never do.

And when the ache in Crowley’s chest returned  and the pain he endured outweighed what he got in return, he tempted Jesus away, took him to see the world.

Jesus was made as an example for all humanity, so he should know all of it. But even while he was trying to be good for Jesus, he knew something was off; he felt it in the way Jesus avoided his eyes and in the way his hips set a rougher tone as they lay together.

Crowley realised, that he must know, that this was his way of saying ‘goodbye’. And once they were back, it felt like it did in the beginning. Jesus’ expression soft and his eyes held questions.

“Please,” he said, as if he ever needed to ask anything from Crowley.

“Of course,” he replied with a voice, that broke underneath the weight of his emotions like ice under his feet. And when Jesus kissed him, deeply and demanding, Crowley once again felt like he was drowning, freezing water closing around him, while the ice above him had melted away under the burning heat of Jesus’ touches.

Afterwards, Jesus braided his hair.

When Crowley left, time seemed to stop. Maybe it did, he couldn’t be sure. He didn’t look back, but dug his fingernails into his palm until they drew blood. He was still burning from touches, aching from passion, but he was sure of his way. It led him far from this place.

Crowley’s eyes filled with tears for the first time in millennia, as he put one foot in front of the other.

* * *

 

_He stops on the way to talk to a man who asks after his wellbeing. Judas, his name is. A common name. He tempts the man to take care of Jesus, as Crowley has done._

_Judas Iscariot will not understand why he falls in love with a preacher called Jesus, or why it feels like home, when he kisses him, but he knows it’s the right thing to do._

_Judas Iscariot will not understand where his doubt of God and Jesus himself comes from, but he will confront the latter with foreign thoughts on his mind._

_Judas Iscariot will not understand, why he would give his life for Jesus and would, if he had to, betray Jesus for humanity's sake._

_‘It must be love,’ he tells himself._

* * *

 

Crowley only looked back when it was too late. He touched the braid in his hair, as he stepped up next to Aziraphale. He had a conversation, words left his lips and entered his ears, but as the gruesome crashes of a hammer and a nail rang through the air, his skin began to burn again.

The only person, who could have helped, stood next to him, oblivious. And he was calling him by the wrong name.

**Author's Note:**

> Needless to say, this is what Crowley thinks about when his Bentley blasts Queen's 'Pain Is So Close To Pleasure'.
> 
> As always, kudos and comments nourish me (aka: Yell At Me)


End file.
